Apart from the food that’s causing my lids to droop, I have generally been more sleep deprived than normal since that drive down the emergency department at Hospital Putrajaya just last 2 nights. We took the plunge because Luqman’s been having on and off fever since last Friday and to make things worse, he began vomiting non-stop just around Maghrib on Monday.
Blood was drawn out of his tiny body and he cried his lungs out, probably out of fear and pain from the needle poking him. Mama was obviously shooed out of the “crime scene”, tears welling in her eyes. I hated the whole procedure but it had to be done. It was better than sitting home wondering what was wrong with my otherwise healthy and happy baby.
Turns out that he’s fine, Alhamdulillah.
For a moment of brevity, I really thought we would be staying the night (at the hospital) though my heart protested against the idea in rebellion.
But no, Alhamdulillah, 2 nights after, armed with antibiotics and some other meds plus loads of doa, he’s back to the bouncy baby that he’s always been.
The last time he was sick, I could (and did) for the most part, blame myself. Because it was totally and completely avoidable had I fed him better and watched his cues more closely. But this time round, after re-rewinding the sequence of events in my head, again and again and again… I couldn’t put it down to anything. Not that I’m such fan of finger-pointing, but if the reason was me, then I’d very much like to know. Like how I’ve learnt not to feed my boy broccoli because it made him gassy. And not to wake him up from his nap unless it was totally and completely necessary.
But yeah. This time round, he just got sick.
I guess they all do (more often than normal) at this point in their lives. Because there were easily 20 babies at the emergency department the other day… so it’s kind of normal, I guess?
Things took a turning for the worst when my husband also began getting poorly. I guess it all started with lack of sleep from waiting at the emergency department, coupled with non-stop travelling and also probably something bad that he consumed, which then later lead to him vomiting and purging uncontrollably.
I heard him last night but I just couldn’t, for the life of me, open my eyes to check on him.
I also didn’t take emergency leave on Tuesday although Luqman was still slightly feverish when I dropped him off (albeit with a heavy heart) at the babysitter’s.
I know people are staring at me with mouth agape and all. Probably some even raising their eyebrows?
What the hell am I thinking right?
How could I even have the heart to go to work and leave my sick baby and sick husband behind? How could I even make peace with myself for doing that? How???
Well, who says I've made peace with myself or whether I ever will?
Welcome to a full-time working mother's world. And her endless dilemma.
I've got alot on my hands at the moment to juggle and no amount of judging is going to recede my burden, not to mention, pain.
The way of the world is such that a working mother is (normally) punished for the things out of her control. How am I suppossed to prevent my son from getting sick when he's growing up, picking things up from the floor, putting his hands into his mouth and interacting with other people, whose state of health is unknown to us? How am I supposed to avoid health check appointments on weekdays, unless I opt for a private clinic. Which is totally and completely absurd considering that I am a Public Servant, you see. How am I supposed to tell my husband to drive himself to the clinic when he can't even control his movements long enough to not pass out in the middle of something. How the hell am I supposed to break it to my superiors that my baby is (again) sick and that I need to take the day off when just the month before I had taken so many days off for the same reason.
I've been told before to juggle my priorities and sort myself out and I believe that for the most part, I have been pretty successful so far. If we're talking about work, I've done my part as the desk officer. I don't have a pile of undone work on my desk and have never used my personal "problems" as a way out of things, unless it involved weekends or nights where my husband is not around. Even then, I do still stay back when I can get my mom to help with my baby at night. When my husband is around, I try to cook and clean and run the household as any good homemaker would do, though I admit that I am not that perfect.
But the thing is this. It's always the bad things that people remember.
Like how I forgot a piece of work because I had some other pressing matter at work to do. Or how I didn't manage to sweep and mop the floor and didn't manage to keep the house spick and span as I should, when in fact, that was the only week I didn't manage to do so because I was totally and completely burned out from so much work that week.
Nobody asks me how I manage to get my other works done on time or the amount of hours I spend at work, after hours. Nobody bothers to ask me how I manage to manage my work and my family, though for the most part, I am alone. Nobody asks me how I have managed to come to work on time every single effing day, put on a decent appearence, remain unperturbed by my own problems, not lose my cool and the list of other things I have managed to do. Nobody asks me how I have managed to come this far without breaking down and without listing for permanent help i.e. staying with my parents or having my parents stay with me. Nobody asks me how I manage to make it no matter how zonked out and sleep deprived I am. Nobody ever asks me.
The only things they remember are "I forgot to do something", "I have failed to keep the house clean", "I am struggling with my priorities".
When in fact, I've given 100% to my everything. 100% to motherhood. 100% to family. 100% to work. The only thing lacking is probably the percentage I allocate to myself. That's about 350% to everything. And trust me, that's alot to ask of someone.
The worst part of it all is that it's the women that don't understand other women.
Which is why I sometimes think we (women) are denser than human.
But regardless, I think we're all (deep, deep down) still very much human. Conditioned to grow a heart of steel. Because that's just the way of the world.
And that actually just makes us denser than denser.
And because of that, in all truth, I have become a live volcano that's ready to erupt.
Shy to comment? Well, never mind! Your reactions mean the world to me! Make me smile today :)